


Don't Look Back

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Series: Ain't Afraid of No Ghosts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Dean shows up unannounced to make sure you’re safe as he and Sam investigate some demon signs near your home.





	Don't Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. Set in some vague s12 timeline. Sort of sequel to Ain't Afraid. Takes place in the same universe-ish. You don’t need to have read that one first, though. This is very short. Sorry!

To say you’re surprised to see Dean Winchester on your front porch would be the understatement of the year. After you heard knocking, you’re instantly on edge, because who knocks anymore? You can’t remember the last time someone came to your house and knocked on the front door.

You go in the drawer of the table by the front door and grab your gun, tucking it in your waistband as you check the peephole, and when you see him there, a little bruised, a little dirtied up, you wrench the front door open before you can even think about it.

“I’ve been knocking for five fucking minutes.” He says as a greeting, pushing past you and into the house.

“Take another step and I’m going to shoot you in the kneecap.” You say, and he rolls his eyes.

“God dammit, we don’t have time for this, kid.” 

“You know the drill.” You say, firm, and he rolls his eyes again, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his forearm. You make a cut with a small silver knife tucked into your boot – habit, you’ve never been able to get rid of it – and he takes a swig from the holy water flask you grab from your kitchen.

“Happy?” He grumbles.

“Like you wouldn’t have yelled at me if I didn’t go through the checks.” 

He fixes you with a _look_ , one that you know means he’s growing impatient, but hell, so are you. You have no idea what he’s doing here, but he looks like he just dug up seven graves and then ran for his life while he was at it. 

“I need to stay here for a night. Or two. Or three.” 

“O-okay…” you hesitate, just slightly. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but is there a reason?”

“Is this place warded?” He asks, ignoring your question. “Salt under the floorboards?”

“Yeah, Dean. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Where’s Sam?”

“I can’t–” he cuts himself off, running a hand over his face. “I can’t tell you right now. He’ll be here tomorrow or the day after, which is why I need to stay for a bit.” 

“Dean. Do I need to set up a panic room, or…?” You ask firmly, getting frustrated because of the less than stellar information he’s giving you.

You’ve known Dean and Sam for a few years, though you don’t hunt nearly as much as they do. You mostly get called in to do smaller cases – ghosts, stray demons, cursed objects. Nothing on the scale of what the Winchesters are doing, though your paths cross every now and then.

He’s peering out all the windows, his hands shaky as they rest on the window ledge. “No, no. I don’t think so, anyway. Maybe.”

“What the fuck is going on?” You blurt, frustrated, moving to stand in front of him. 

He finally meets your eyes, and it’s almost like he hasn’t really registered that he’s here, at your house, until this second. “God, kid–” he says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

You snort. “Something must _really_ be wrong if you’re apologizing.” 

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it, not really. “Just me being a dick, as usual.” 

You frown at his self-deprecation. In the short time you’ve known Dean, you’ve gotten to know that hating himself is one thing Dean Winchester does best, even though you think it’s totally unwarranted.

“There’s a pretty big-deal demon on my tail right now.” He says, looking through your blinds again. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Hey.” You say, getting his attention before his eyes drop from yours again. “We got this. I’ve got salt and holy water, and a devil’s trap under the rug by the front door and the back door.” 

“That’s my girl.” He says, grinning, and you fight back the urge to bite your lip and start blushing like a teenager. 

Ever since you met Dean and Sam a few years ago on a routine ghost case, you and Dean have had this weird connection. Weird, because it’s never been talked about. Weirder still, because you feel more comfortable with him than with almost anyone else in your life. You’ve got a few hunting friends and few friends who have no idea what you do for a living, but besides that, you’re usually alone.

You and Dean text every now and then - you to check in, him to make sure you aren’t doing anything crazy - and sometimes even for no reason at all. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to. You’ve never had that before.

He calls you sometimes too, his voice like gravel in your ear while he’s driving and Sam’s asleep, or when he can’t sleep wherever he is that particular night.

“I just started driving, and realized I was driving through your town. I kinda panicked.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.” You say, and gesture for him to follow you to the bathroom so you can check out a few cuts and bruises on his face. 

He leans against the sink, and you swallow hard as you step forward, almost in between his legs to take a look at a shallow cut on his chin, and another near his eye. 

“You should see the other guy.” He tells you, a small smile on his face. You hate the way you feel when he’s this close, and you’re not sure how to react to his proximity.

“You should wash your face. Get all the dirt off.” You say, changing the subject. 

He raises an eyebrow at your less-than-steady voice, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns away from you, washing his hands with plenty of soap before throwing some water on his face, wincing. “Dammit.” He mutters. 

You touch his elbow lightly. “Turn around and let me see.” 

He does as you ask, though that eyebrow is still raised at you questioningly, but he goes along with it as you try to force him to take ten minutes to look after himself. 

“So… demons, huh?” 

“One, in particular.” He says, grunting when you dab some alcohol on one of the cuts on his face. “Really hates me.” 

You get Dean cleaned up as much as he’ll let you, and try to ignore the way his eyes rove over your face the entire time you work, and then the both of you head to the kitchen. You figure it’s been awhile since Dean’s had an actual dinner, but he insists on helping you cook. You can’t turn him down, not when you see the way his eyes light up at your well-stocked fridge. 

Later that night, he gets a call from Sam, and you try not to listen in on their conversation as Dean paces in the living room, the blinds on your window still drawn shut. 

“Sam says he’ll be here tomorrow if that’s okay.” Dean says as he comes back into the kitchen where you’re nursing a beer. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I am sorry, you know.” He tells you earnestly. “For just showing up here. The last thing I want to do is get you involved–”

“Shut up. You wouldn’t have come here if you really thought I was in trouble.” 

He frowns. “You been hunting demons lately?” 

You look away. “One or two. When they pop up.” 

Dean’s eyes widen and gives you that _I know I didn’t just hear you say that_ look. “Kid–”

“I can handle it, Dean.” 

“You need practice.”

“What better way than by doing it?” You force a smile. You knew when you met Dean that he had a _thing_ about people trying to handle this kind of stuff on their own. Hell, he practically tried to kick you out of your own case the first time you met.

“Just… be careful.” He tells you, and you barely restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“I _am_ , Dean.” 

He opens his mouth like he wants to continue saying something else about you hunting, but he stops himself when he sees how less-than-thrilled you must look. “Sorry. I just worry.” 

You soften a little bit. “You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.” You tease. 

Later, when you both finish off another beer each, you head to bed - you in your bedroom and him on the couch, his gun on the table next to him. 

“Just in case,” he says, and you nod, taking your own gun up to the bedroom with you. 

.

.

.

The next day, Sam arrives in the late afternoon looking equally worse for the wear, with a blonde woman you don’t recognize.

“Hey.” He says, his voice sounding tired, and he presses a kiss to your cheek absently. “This is Mary.” 

“Hi, Mary.” You say. “Make yourself at home.” 

You don’t know who she is, but you figure she’s important if Sam went to the trouble of going to get her and bring her here when they’ve got a demon practically hunting them. 

You see an anti-possession charm around her neck, so you know she’s got ties to them, whoever she is, and you can’t help but notice the way Dean hangs back a little more, not taking charge like you’re used to him doing.

“You alright?” You ask, catching Dean alone in the basement as Sam tries to call Castiel. 

“Fine.” 

“Dean–”

“I’m fine, kid, really.” 

You grow frustrated quickly. “Okay, look. I’m not trying to pry or anything because I know I don’t…” you trail off, not even sure what you’re trying to say. “I know we don’t know each other that well. I’m just trying to figure out what to do to help, here. That’s all.” 

Dean looks remorseful, and that’s not what you wanted to do, either. You sigh, wondering how one guy can be so complex. 

“She’s my Mom.” 

You were not expecting that one. “You don’t have to–” you backtrack quickly, feeling guilty.

“No, it’s– you’re right. We’re here in your house, the least I can do is be honest with you.” He moves closer, takes a seat next to you on the old beat-up couch in your basement. “My Mom died when Sam was a baby. She’s back.” 

You stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth. You know literally anything is possible with the Winchesters. “Okay… so, why the awkwardness?”

“She doesn’t know how to be around us now that we’re adults. I get it, I do, but… I don’t know. It just sucks. She left a little while ago to be on her own. This is the first time I’ve seen her in awhile.” 

“That’s why you sent Sam to get her.” 

Dean swallows. “I knew if some demon was after us, they probably know about our Mom. I didn’t want– I can’t lose her so soon after getting her back. That’s why I came here, too.” 

Now you gape at him, because _honestly_ , he can’t be comparing the two of you. “What are you talking about?” 

“I came here to make sure you were okay. To make sure they hadn’t already got to you. I wasn’t just passing through.” 

“ _Dean_.” 

“We’ve had our moments, haven’t we?” He asks, his face open and vulnerable. “I’m not just making it up?”

You remember the first time you met Dean.

_“If you– if you ever find yourself in over your head, or find something you think we should look into, call me.” He tells you, handing you a napkin from the bar with his number scrawled on it. “Sam’s is there too.”  
_

_You laugh. “Oh good. Sam likes me better, anyway.”_

_“I don’t know about that.” He says quietly, with a smile._

“You’re not making it up.” You reply, your voice almost a whisper. 

His eyes are _so_ big and so green, and you’re leaning in before you can stop yourself or remind yourself of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. He meets you halfway, to your relief, and covers your mouth with his, a kiss that you feel all the way to your toes. 

His hand comes up to cover your cheek, gently directing your jaw so he can get a better angle, and you let him do it, sighing into his mouth. His hand travels farther back, into your hair, and you make a truly embarrassing noise. He seems to enjoy it, though, pulling away from you just enough to smirk at you.

“Shut _up_.” You tell him, and he laughs, his eyes sparkling.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.” 

“God. C’mere.” He says, chuckling, and pulls you in for another kiss. 

“Dean,” Sam calls down the stairs, interrupting your moment. “You need to get up here.” 

Dean shifts into hunter mode quickly, but smiles at you still. “Ready to go kick some ass?”

You grin. “Born ready.” 

He stops, halfway up the stairs. “If this goes bad, promise me to get the hell out of here. Don’t look back.” 

You glare. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m going to leave you guys here.”

He groans. “Kid, please just–”

“No!” 

“Just– be careful. Stay sharp.” 

“They don’t call me a quick shot for nothing.” 

He snorts. “No one calls you that.” 

“That you _know of_!” 

“You’re right - I do regret coming here.” He tells you, laughing as he ducks out of the way of your punch. “Let’s go.” 

“Yeah.” You smile, unable to help yourself. Dean just does that to you. “Let’s go.” 


End file.
